


Sauron - Worker of Fine Metals.

by Glorfindel



Series: Dark Judgement [7]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glorfindel/pseuds/Glorfindel
Summary: Sauron is in love with Melkor, who casts him out, but before he does he gives him a magic ring which hides his identity.He moves to the Isle of Balar and captures the interest of Cirdan, who is just as devious.Things go quite well until Cirdan announces that a ship full of Maia are soon to visit the island on a fact finding mission concerning Melkor and Sauron.What can Sauron do? He cannot stay, that's for sure.The story is gleefully written from Sauron's point of view, so can it even be trusted? Only you can decide!





	1. Melkor

  
I have decided to reminisce. Not because I like to do so but because Maglor asked me to. There is a rich seam of story telling in Valinor because, let’s face it, there is bugger all else to do in this land of milk and honey and never ending safety, and I am sure that is why the Fëanorian pie parties are being copied by so many elves here.  
  
  
  
Of course, the anal Vanyar do not like to get dirty so they throw soft fluffy woollen balls at each other whilst clapping politely if one hits. The Teleri, in all their forms, generally like to smear the floor with grease and then skid along the floor aiming to hit others along the way. The skid parties sound much more fun than the fluffy ball parties, but as I am invited to neither I cannot really make a judgement, although it is not hard to make an educated guess. There is also a considerable amount of cross over between party types. The Fëanorian, ‘skid a pie’ party was most amusing and even I joined in with that one. Not all elves indulge in these three forms of enjoyment. Some are content to be boring and do nothing, or they sneer derisively because they enjoy a more refined mode of leisure, like sitting up a tree and chanting, for example.  
  
  
  
So, here is my story for Maglor. It is recorded differently in the Elven Chronicles, but as they are a bunch of outright liars who wrote the history to suit their own agenda, most of you will not be familiar with a lot of it.  
  
  
  
Melkor and I were sitting in his study, bored out of our minds when he started to smile. “I think you should fall in love,” he said to me.  
  
  
  
“Am I not in love with you?” I asked and gave him a superior smile as I picked up the delicate porcelain cup in front of me and sipped some herbal tea laced with spirit that we had stolen off the elves. It was better than the crap we made, so we kept it exclusively for ourselves. I have no idea what it was called. I did ask one of the elves and he spat in my face and said he would rather die than tell me. I was mildly surprised that he would say such a thing, but who am I to deny someone what they want? I must say that he did not look very grateful that I had stabbed him in the belly. These elves are so fickle.  
  
  
  
“Our love has nothing to do with it,” Melkor told me. “I want to stretch your abilities, so that you can live as the enemy does and integrate. You will need to soon.”  
  
  
  
“You mean that I am to fall in love with AN ELF!” I said, shocked that Melkor would suggest anything so repulsive. The cup fell out of my fingers onto the floor.  
  
  
  
“Of course,” Melkor said and smirked. “You owe me for that cup.”  
  
  
  
“You have someone else, don’t you, and you are trying to get me out of the way.”  
  
  
  
Melkor sighed. “Who would I have?” He shrugged and opened his palms upwards. A rather girly gesture if you ask me.  
  
  
  
“I have seen the way you look at Nienna,” I accused.  
  
  
  
“Now you are grasping at straws,” Melkor replied. “Stop being childish or else there will be no more sex for you.”  
  
  
  
“I do not think I want sex with you anyway, if you are going to lie to me,” I said and walked away. I left the room. All the way down the hallway I could hear his crashing roars of laughter.  
  
  
  
I slept on my own that night and I missed Melkor terribly. I missed our games; I missed the pain that he could inflict and the heights of pleasure he could induce, and most of all I missed him. He was discarding me, and my little black heart hurt terribly because I thought I loved him. How I hated Nienna. First instinct is always right and I know now that she was indeed having an affair with him. Later they would marry, but I was not privy to any of that information until much later. I still hate her and I am glad that she is finding The Void so awful.  
  
  
  
Melkor came to my room in the early hours of the morning. He pulled me out of bed and I landed in a heap on the floor. “How dare you not come to my room,” he thundered. “You are my slave!”  
  
  
  
“Apparently not any more,” I replied, my fëa shaking with terror. I did not let him see that though. “You rejected me earlier on and told me to fall in love with someone else.”  
  
  
  
“I was not rejecting you,” Melkor thundered, so that the room shook. “I want to make sure you survive. You have a chance, but the Valar are already on their way to enslave me and I have to flee. You can deceive the elves and remain safe for when I come again.”  
  
  
  
“You never said that.”  
  
  
  
“I have seen the future, Sauron,” Melkor said to me. “I do not have long, but they need not find you. Make me an empire for when I return.”  
  
  
  
Everything I owned flew out of the cupboards and into the middle of the room. Melkor looked at the pile and we both watched as it shrank in size to that of a small plaque. He opened a secret compartment in his ring and put the plaque inside, and then he closed it again. “Wear this, and flee,” he told me as I watched the ring become invisible on my finger. “Flee to the Isle of Balar and tell them you are a servant of Aulë.”  
  
  
  
“My spies inform me that there is a settlement in Sirion...”  
  
  
  
“Which is protected by Ulmo,” Melkor interrupted. “Go now and insidiously seduce your way into their hearts. The ring will protect your identity, never take it off.”  
  
  
  
“Master, perhaps I should kill them all?”  
  
  
  
“Do nothing to bring attention to yourself,” Melkor told me. “Be as one with them, even though they are repulsive and vile.”  
  
  
  
“Master, you have never safeguarded any who are loyal before,” I said nervously. “Why are you doing this for me?”  
  
  
  
“I see two branches in your life. The first one is that you will be taken into captivity and kept prisoner by the Valar until the end of time. Indeed they will be harsher with you than they will be with me, because I am family and you are not. The second branch is that you escape from here and build an empire of unimaginable and terrifying power. It will be the largest empire of evil in Middle-earth and we shall rule together before smashing Middle-earth to pieces so that Eru’s creation ceases to exist.”  
  
  
  
“You will let the Valar take you into captivity,” I asked. “Why?” I chose to ignore his last statement about destroying things; he always said things like that when he got excited.  
  
  
  
“First of all I shall go and hide somewhere dark, in the depths of the earth, so they know where to find me. When they do, I shall repent. Nienna will say that I am to be trusted, and after a while they will let me go,” Melkor told me. “It is simple really. When they let my new redeemed character back to Middle-earth we shall rule together and there will be no stopping us. I will divert their attention in Valinor whilst you build our empire. Now you must escape so that you do not fall into their hands.”  
  
  
  
“I will miss you,” I said.  
  
  
  
“Really? Why?”  
  
  
  
“Because I love you,” I replied.  
  
  
  
Manwë looked truly surprised. “Leave now,” he ordered and walked out of the room. I watched him go and my little black heart told me to forget the bastard. It hinted that Melkor was inventing a story to remove me from his presence. I believed my heart because I had no idea that Melkor was actually telling the truth; he had never done so before.


	2. Círdan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron arrives in the Isle of Balar and captures the interest of Círdan.

  
  
  
I made my way to the Isle of Balar, and on the way I invented the cover story that my nana was an elf maid who was raped by a large talking wolf; I had been the issue and she had named me Aranel. It amused me because it was so ridiculous and yet Círdan swallowed it whole; he is not the brightest of elves, and he has a beard.  
  
  
  
“Sauron changes into a wolf at will,” Círdan told me. “Do you think he could be your Adar?”  
  
  
  
“Who?” I asked.  
  
  
  
“You have not heard of Sauron, Melkor’s whore?”  
  
  
  
I bristled at that. I am nobody’s whore! However, to maintain the pretence I said that all I knew was how to work iron, which I learned off my step-ada before he and my nana were killed by orcs. I knew nothing of Sauron, or of Melkor, and asked if they were the ones who should not be mentioned by name.  
  
  
  
“Sauron is the leader of the orc armies; you look very much like him,” Círdan told me.  
  
  
  
“I am sorry,” I said, giving him my best bewildered look and wondering when in the past Círdan had actually seen me because I couldn’t remember him at all.  
  
  
  
“Apparently, Sauron has a habit of roaming the countryside as a wolf and raping young elf-maidens,” Círdan told me. “You will not be the only one who was born that way.”  
  
  
  
Actually, I have never roamed the countryside as a wolf to rape maidens; young ellyn would not have been that safe, however. Anyway, I cannot see the point; why go out looking when I can have them brought to me? My senses told me that Círdan was telling what he believed to be the truth. That bastard Melkor had obviously been up to no good and I was getting the blame. He wanted to share my future empire? Well he could bugger off. If I had an empire that great, I would be able to resist him, and his deceitfulness, and would rule alone. Plus, if I ruled alone I would actually be the saviour of Middle-earth because Melkor’s dream was to destroy all of it.  
  
  
  
“You are skilled in smithying?” Círdan asked. “What sort of work can you do?”  
  
  
  
“Any thing from shoeing horses to making swords,” I replied. “Your guards took my weapons, otherwise I could show you them. I was the one who made them.”  
  
  
  
“I have already examined them. They are fine weapons indeed for a smith’s ion,” Círdan said because he is a crashing snob when it comes to supposedly poor elves owning good quality swords and daggers. Whether Círdan liked it or not, I had indeed made my sword and dagger, although I had not written my name on them in big letters so he probably wouldn’t believe me.  
  
  
  
“I am willing to work in the smithy and make an item of your choosing,” I told Círdan, hoping that he was bright enough to see what I was inferring.  
  
  
  
Círdan fingered his beard thoughtfully, because he is no better than an orc when it comes to nasty habits like that. “You will make me a sword and dagger in the design you chose for your own. Of course you will be supervised.” I smiled and thanked Círdan, but he continued. “This is only to see whether you will be able to work as a smith. You look too much like our oppressor for us to fully trust you. That will be a long time coming, if ever.”  
  
  
  
One cannot have everything and so I thanked Círdan most prettily and agreed that in these dangerous times he had no option but to make the decision he did. I know how to worm my way into an elf’s favour.  
  
  
  
The guards led me away to my room. It was plainly furnished with just a bed, a chair, a writing desk with drawers and a wardrobe. It was enough. The guard told me that when I needed to use the toilet I should use the covered pail in the corner and then give it to them to be taken away and emptied. So far it had been easy and I was in the castle proper and not held in a tent. This was not due to any favour on Círdan’s part. A room with solid walls is much harder to escape from. I sat down at the desk and opened a draw. There was a piece of slate and some white chalk. This would never do. I waved my hand and a sword design appeared on the slate as if drawn in chalk. After waiting about ten minutes I alerted the guard and asked him to take the slate to Lord Círdan.   
  
  
  
The next morning I was escorted to the smithy and given the materials to make the sword. I took as long as I could when making the sword as it was good to be out in the fresh air. Anor’s beams shone down and the leaves on the trees softly rustled. I felt happier than I had for a long time. My bare back sweated with my labour as day after day I worked the metals into intricate designs, studding the hilt with jewels and carvings and honing the blade to a razor sharp finish. Círdan often watched me and I felt his desire. I did not, however, let him know that I was aware and I always looked surprised when I noticed him.  
  
  
  
Círdan held a hair up to the blade, when I presented it to him, and he smiled as it split into two strands. I smiled slightly, waiting expectantly.   
  
  
  
“You are too talented to shoe horses,” Círdan told me as if mesmerised by the blade. “From now on you make weapons.”  
  
  
  
I made weapons and I made them well. Melkor had thrown me from his heart with a pack of lies and so he had no loyalty from me any more. Now I was trying to survive and would do what I could to remain hidden by integrating with the enemy. One day I would rule the whole of Middle-earth, not in the way that Melkor wanted, by destroying everything, but by winning the hearts and minds of all who lived there. The men would be easy to turn and so would the plants and animals. The dwarves would be a little harder, but I was sure that their love of mithril and thirst for knowledge in new ways of metalworking would bring them round in the end. The elves were a completely different prospect. It would be hard to fool them, and I was well aware that the only reason I had so far was because of the ring Melkor had given me. Why do elves have to love goodness and light so much?


	3. A Soft Kiss

 

 

Many were the hours I worked, making weapons in the forge I was allotted by Círdan himself. I willingly taught my skills, but not my secrets, and was amazed at how willing the elves were to forgive any past existence one might have had if one was accomplished in the making of beautiful things. Elves prefer to think that delicate beauty cannot issue forth from evil and so they were entranced. It amused me that Fëanor’s ability coupled with his fiery disregard for peaceful existence and harmony was considered more of an aberration than a likelihood that could affect other elves too. This knowledge held me in good stead when I made the One Ring during the Second Age.

 

 

My forge was near to the castle and often I would feel Círdan’s eyes appraising my form as I hammered a fine edge to the blades. He would idly glance from his window and often, just to tease, I would stop and wipe my brow and take a long drink of water. The back of my hand would wipe the drips away from my mouth and then I would put my hold my arms back away from my body and push my head back to relax my spine. I did this purely to tease Círdan, who’s longing for my body I felt in every nuance of my being. After that I would pick up the blade and run it along my tongue. I knew this turned him on more than any other thing I did. He loved the thrill of not knowing if my tongue would be cut or not. I must admit that when I see young warriors here in Valinor doing the same thing I always hope their tongues are cut off; I am quite disappointed when they are not.

 

 

It seems odd that there are warriors in Valinor, but we do what we know. I love to be a megalomaniac Dark Lord, even though I am heavily supervised and have to undergo heavy sessions of questioning, and sometimes re-education, which doesn’t work, if I show any signs of being so. This is because I am familiar with the role, and only I can look so artfully and carelessly great at it. The warriors in Valinor were once warriors in Middle-earth. The girly bimbo and my brilliantly marvellous and wonderful ion, Erestor, have warriors serving them in their large house, who do nothing except hang around looking like the congenital idiots they are, occasionally dribbling and often letting their mouths hang open. My fiercely beautiful, mad and impulsive husband, Maglor, has several times threatened to slit the tongues of warriors who do not keep their mouths resolutely shut when on guard. Of course, I encourage him by pointing out the open mouthed guards. Only I know how gentle he really is, with the exception of my ion Erestor whom I adore, mainly because he was such a murderous, insane bastard in his former life.

 

 

Most of the time I did not pose for Círdan; it was better that he craved me doing so and then sighed with longing when I finally did. I know how to hook an elven leader and he was no exception. It is said in the Elven Chronicles that Galadriel was suspicious of me, when I was Annatar, and so was Gil-Galad, which is not true. Galadriel became jealous when her husband, Celeborn, became enchanted with my presence and she had a hissy fit the size of Mount Doom when her lover Ereinion gifted me with a new sword; she forbade him to have anything more to do with me and he complied. On reflection, I realise now that she felt insulted that I had not sought her sexual favours. I am extremely beautiful, ethereally so, and so it is natural that she would have felt this way. Perhaps I should have rogered her into submission and thought of Middle-earth as I did so. It is not often that I make a mistake, but when I do it is often spectacular in result and this was no exception. I was trying to rule the hearts and minds of all the races so that I could gradually take power and then reveal myself for who I really was. The devious game is much more fun than outright war, something I have impressed upon Erestor since he was a small baby; although, judging by his past life he knew this more than anyone.

 

 

It took a few years for the bearded one to make his move. I was at a celebration to welcome the coming of winter, where all of nature sleeps and the elves take to their firesides and tell their boring tales which they expect one to listen to. I sat in the background, like I always did, drinking my hot spiced wine when Círdan sat beside me.

 

 

“Why do you not tell a tale?” he asked. “You always sit at the back and yet I am sure you have a tale to tell.” If only he knew.

 

 

“I have nothing to tell my Lord,” I lied.

 

 

“Did your parents not tell any tales by the fireside?” Círdan asked and took a sip of his wine while staring into my eyes.

 

 

“No, My Lord,” I replied truthfully and gave a shy smile. “My adar was taciturn in nature and eschewed all frivolity. I find that I still marvel at how free the elves here are, in their speech and how they laugh with one another.”

 

 

“You did not laugh much when you lived with your parents?” Círdan asked and I knew I he was hooked.

 

 

“To laugh when times were hard was a sign of frivolity,” I replied. “I was also not allowed to forget that he was not my real adar.”

 

 

“How awful for you,” Círdan said and took my hand. “I would want you to have as much fun as you can here. However, at least he taught you how to be a good blacksmith. Think of how many elven lives you will save when we eventually fight the enemy.” The irony did not escape me and it was hard not to laugh at the deliciousness of it. The weapons would indeed serve them well but no war is won because an army has particularly fine swords.

 

 

“He said he would not leave me without a livelihood if anything happened to him and my nana.” I looked at him with an assumed sadness. “I suppose that is one of the few good things he did for me.” I then looked down at my wine for effect. “I miss my nana, but I do not miss him. He never let me, or my nana, forget my origins and I was made to feel shame because of them.”

 

 

“I am so sorry,” Círdan said to me and his face was genuine. Inside I laughed at him for believing me, and yet, my face betrayed no hint. “It matters not where your origins lie. You have proved yourself a good friend to the elves here.” He leaned forward slightly. “You must think of the elves on this island as your kin, as your family.”

 

 

“Thank you, My lord,” I said in as demure a tone as I could. “You are very kind. You have always shown me much kindness.” He was now putty in my hands.

 

 

“It is not undeserved,” Círdan breathed softly. “Many times I have watched you working in the forge. I have watched your dedication to your craft and your fashioning of an enviable array of fine weapons. You should be proud of your achievements. You are yourself, Aranel. You are not your ada, or your nana, but yourself.”

 

 

“Thank you, My lord,” I replied and allowed a becoming blush to spread across my face which immediately endeared me to the bearded one.

 

 

Círdan put his fingers under my chin to lift my face slightly and he kissed me softly on the lips. It was the merest touch. “Tell me, Aranel. “Why have you never taken a lover?”

 

 

“I do not know,” I shrugged whilst looking directly into his eyes. “Who could love one like me?”

 

 

Círdan looked at me as though his heart would break. “I could...”

 

 

 


	4. Sauron the Virgin?

 

 

Círdan leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Come to my rooms and together we will meet the dawn.”

 

 

My face was one of assumed shyness. “My Lord,” I whispered. “I am still a virgin.” How I pictured Melkor laughing at that. It would be sweet having sex with someone else, even though it was a stinky elf. That would show Melkor not to play with my feelings, although, technically, Círdan did not count because he was an elf who played with his beard.

 

 

“Then I would be honoured to show you your very first dawn as my lover. We will lay together, satiated and in each other’s arms after a night of love,” Círdan said and touched my lips with his finger. “You can put the past behind you and know that you are cherished.”

 

 

“How wonderful that must feel,” I replied softly, as if awestruck. “No one has ever said words like that to me.” Melkor used to, but he stopped after a while. He would ply me with sweet endearments, but when he caught my heart he stopped. He knew I would not stray and ceased trying to make me feel loved. I did not realise then because I still hoped that he loved me. I know now that he and the bitch Nienna were laughing at me; every action was a taunt and in my misery I chose not to see.

 

 

I was not actually going to write the previous paragraph, but as Manwë was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, I felt compelled to write something that would avoid me being hauled in for an intense round of questioning. He was invisible, but I knew he was there. I am a master of sensing the unseen; he will probably hang around for some time but at the moment he is over the other side of the room rearranging the fruit display and he thinks that I have not noticed him. The paragraph was all true but I tend not to dwell on my feelings as no good can come of it. This is not a view shared by Manwë, who thinks that critical self reflection is the most wonderful idea. I am still Valinor’s official psychiatrist and I know it is fruitless to dwell on the past because it stops one looking to the future, but will he believe me? It is like asking an elfling to make a stand up sculpture out of runny custard, it will never happen.

 

 

“There are many words that I would say to you,” Círdan said as he sat nearer to me. I could smell his elvish scent and was mildly surprised that it was bearable. This would not be so bad after all, I thought to myself; at least he has washed. Maglor has a natural body scent of flowers, most elves do in fact; however, he has something stronger and sweeter, an underlying warmth that I find quite irresistible. Elrond told me that because I love Maglor I can smell him this way, and I quite like that explanation because I would not like to think that others could indulge themselves by sniffing my only one. His scent drives me to sexual distraction, and that is for me alone. I do not often talk about these things with Elrond, but we were discussing why wolves like to sniff each other’s arses and it grew from there.

 

 

The Lord of the Isle of Balar led the Dark Lord Sauron, in the guise of the virginal Aranel, to his rooms. I could have snapped his neck, as soon as the guards left us, and made good my escape; however, it would have served no purpose. I needed the friendship of the elves so that the Valar would not find me; they would never look for me here.

 

 

“You are very beautiful,” Círdan told me as he stroked the side of my cheek. He leaned forward and kissed my lips, hesitating slightly as he withdrew.

 

 

“My Lord?” I said, looking innocent and without ease.

 

 

“I am Círdan. Call me thus, as we are about to be lovers,” he replied. He looked into my eyes and kissed my lips lightly. “How beautiful you are.” He was absolutely right, of course. I smiled and tried to look demure. “You are shy,” he said to me as he took my hand. “There is no need to be.”

 

 

“My Lord,” I whispered. “I cannot help being modest. I have never been in this situation before.”

 

 

“Do you feel uncomfortable?” Círdan asked. “We can go much slower if that is your desire.”

 

 

It is most strange, and completely unlike me, but I felt a new respect for Círdan; he actually cared about my unease, even though it was false; he was not to know that though. Melkor had never cared about my passage into becoming his lover; I was not allowed to set the pace and there was no consideration that it was my first time. It took a while to enjoy our games and the experiences were often confusing and painful; I stayed because I had no choice, and because I truly thought I loved him; his physical beauty was astonishing, and with one look he could melt my little black heart.

 

 

Sometimes Melkor would be endearing and my heart would sing with joy. I would hold onto and cherish those moments, but they were few and far between; however, they were enough to keep me hoping that one day he would turn his attention completely to me and know my love for him. I hung onto that hope for a long time, and when Melkor returned to Middle-earth he professed his love, which he had hardly ever done before. All doubt was swept away and I fell for him again; he tried harder and my life became more satisfying and complete. Inevitably, he was captured again, but until the end of my time in Middle-earth I still hoped for what we had in those past few years, even though, subconsciously, I knew he was a bastard and would ultimately let me down. I played the game and did Melkor’s bidding, as his most trusted servant, while studying the more ancient forms of power and magic so that one day I might at least be equal and make him proud of me and our union. In our last meeting in Middle-earth, just before the Valar imprisoned him forever, he professed his undying love and his plans for our future. They included me and I knew then that he would love me forever. What a fool I was; I now know that he knew I was stronger. When we met in the void after the ring wars he punished me for assuming that I could be his equal and I found out how truly weak I really was.

 

 

Now Manwë has gone, I can get back to the story. I really do wish he would stop reading over my shoulder and looking for signs of contrition.

 

 

“My Lord,” I started. “This is all new to me.”

 

 

“I wish you were not so in awe of me,” Círdan said softly. “I am only an elf, like you are.”

 

 

I allowed my face to assume a becoming shade of red and put my head down on Círdan’s shoulder. He spoke softly to me and tried to reassure me. He did not see my smirk, and even if he did he would have assumed it was a smile. He put his fingers under my chin and kissed my lips. I felt his tongue push into my mouth and I tentatively tasted him as his arms encircled me. I let my hand softly touch his cheek, acting the part of the virgin with consummate skill.


	5. First Time

Círdan guided me to the bedroom as we kissed. His hands slipped in between my leggings and the cheeks of my arse. “I am so honoured to be the first one to touch you this way,” he breathed.

 

 

After a few more boring pleasantries, which I cannot be bothered to record here, we ended up taking our clothing off and getting into his rather large bed. I was pleased it was so big; otherwise Círdan might have wanted to hold me in his arms all night if it were smaller. We continued kissing and his strong, practised hands caressed my body as we did so.

 

 

I acted the part of clueless virgin with absolute ease, and it was necessary for the elf lord to believe I was, so that he was taken in completely by my cover story. I did not trust Melkor’s ring completely and wondered if it would fail at some point. It would be just like Melkor to feed me full of stories about my glittering future and then betray me.

 

 

“Touch me,” Círdan breathed as his hand caressed my upper arm. The other hand was around the back of my head pulling me closer to his mouth. I ran an experimental hand along his side and looked at him, he seemed please and smiled. “Yes. Just like that.” Well, of course, I am an astounding lover and I know exactly where to touch.

 

 

I consider that Melkor lost out heavily when he sought Nienna as a lover instead of me. How can a female know what it is like when a male is touched by them? I know exactly what my caresses did to Melkor because I knew how they felt on my own body. Similarly, I am the first to admit that I have no idea what a clitoral orgasm must feel like and I am rather envious that some females have long strings of them. By comparison, it seems a mean state of affairs that a male will only have one. I think that Eru must be female and having a laugh at the male’s expense, on the other hand, I can piss anywhere while a female has to squat out of sight; there is a lot to be said for that convenience.

 

 

I sighed as the point of my ear was gently sucked. “You like that?” Círdan asked softly. Well if course I do, who doesn’t? I nodded and gave a lazy smile.

 

 

Kisses rained down my neck and across my chest. First one nipple was sucked and then the other. I did not have the most sensitive nipples when living in Middle-earth, although since being re-embodied, after being in the Void, they are much improved in sensation, so I was feeling a little bored and hoping that he would get on with it. It was time to move things along. “Círdan,” I said, hoping he would look up. He sucked harder, mistaking my polite enquiry as a moan of pleasure. “Círdan, I have no feeling there.”

 

 

“No feeling in your nipples?” he asked, amazed that I should say so.

 

 

“I was shocked by a bear when I was an elfling and since then that part of my chest has been numb,” I replied, wondering if he would be incredulous. I would be so; in fact I would call myself an outright liar.

 

 

“You were shocked by a bear?” Círdan asked. Why did he repeat everything I said, I wondered.

 

 

“Yes,” I replied. “I do not remember it, but my nana said it was so. I have been numb there ever since.”

 

 

“I will move further down.” The kisses, tongue swirls, and small bites continued down to my ragingly hard cock and I sighed audibly when he took me in his mouth. It was about time too, I thought. I let my fingers stroke the top of his head, to show willing and encouragement, and let out a well considered moan.

 

 

“It feels better than I ever thought it would,” I breathed. Círdan was encouraged by my lies and set to sucking and licking with abandon. I thought of Melkor and came in his mouth. Even though I was angry with Melkor he was still my number one lust object, and until I met Maglor he was the only one who could drive me wild with desire, except Thuringwethil for a very brief period before she was killed in Minas Tirith. ‘But she was female,” I hear you all protest. Yes she was, but she had a set of teeth in her vagina, and was a vampire whose dress was made out of the soft folds of her wings; how sexy is that?

 

 

Círdan drew my knees up slightly. “Were there no elves to teach you on your fiftieth begetting day?” he asked softly as he poured some oil in his palm from a green, cracked-glaze glass bottle.

 

 

“My ada forbade any contact. He said I was half wolf and it would be unnatural,” I lied. “You are my first.” The lies kept tripping out but Círdan was never questioned them at all, and why would he if he believed I was telling the truth. Normally I eschew lying because the truth is often more painful and most cannot argue with it when they are deceived because they did not listen properly. However, there is still a place for outrageous lying, just ask the ones who wrote the Elven Chronicles.

 

 

I felt the first finger slip in. “You are very relaxed,” Círdan remarked. It was nothing new and I had hardly noticed it.

 

 

“You make me so, My Lord,” I replied.

 

 

“You must call me Círdan,” he said and smiled. “We are far too intimate for formalities.” A second finger slipped n easily and I took in a sharp intake of breath and looked surprised. All acting, of course; my arse was so well used by Melkor that Círdan could have shoved anything up there and I would be able to take it without a murmur.

 

 

A third finger and I shut my eyes, a slight smile playing on my lips, whilst thinking that he should stop being so bloody slow and get on with it. Círdan said nothing and I felt his fingers withdraw and the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. I gave him a guileless look as he pushed inside. The elf lord’s fingers caressed my face. “How does that feel?” he asked.

 

  
  


 


	6. Being Aranel

Why do elves always ask, ‘How does it feel?’ when they have their cock up someone’s arse? How did Círdan think it felt, especially as he was under the impression that I was a virgin?  
  
  
  
  
“Círdan,” I gasped, hoping that I was not overacting. “It feels strange. I have not felt anything like this before.”  
  
  
  
  
“Does it hurt?” he asked, full of concern. I knew he was hoping I would say it did not, so he would not have to pull out.  
  
  
  
  
“Not exactly, but it does not feel that good either,” I lied and looked at him with a slightly desperate frown. “Other elves do this for fun?” That should make him feel guilty about breaking in a faux virgin!  
  
  
  
  
“It is never comfortable the first few times,” Círdan explained as he stroked my cheek. “You are doing very well; however, I can make it better for you.” He reached down and pressed in between my legs with his fingers as he took a small thrust.   
  
  
  
  
I sighed. “Oh my! That is definitely an improvement. What are you doing?” I asked as if I hadn’t a clue.  
  
  
  
  
“Pressing your centre of joy,” Círdan replied. He thrust again and I let out a moan. It was a long time since I last had sex and even an elf was better than nothing.  
  
  
  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
  
  
  
Maglor is the only one allowed to petulantly smack me across the head and storm off in a fit of jealous rage, and live. I really do not know how far to go with this story, as he has just read over my shoulder and exclaimed how disgusting it is that I had sex with Círdan. When I replied that Círdan might think the same thing about him, I barely escaped being slung to the floor by the force of his hand ringing across my head.  
  
  
  
  
In a way, his jealousy is a compliment, in another, it is a pain in the arse. I suppose I will have to go and talk to him and give him lots of reassurance. He was all right, and trusted me completely, until the repulsive Manwë told him that I had regular sex with Maedhros when Melkor gave him to me as a toy before he was hung up.  
  
  
  
  
“How could you have sex with my brother?” Maglor screamed whilst I sat patiently waiting for his diva outburst to stop. “You probably only wanted me because I look like him.”  
  
  
  
  
“He is not you,” I said and pulled Maglor onto my lap. After masses of reassurance, which as a Dark Lord I really should not have to give, he calmed down. He was very rude to his brother, the next time he saw him, and warned him never to look my way. Maedhros, whose mind I had to alter when I arrived in Valinor, hadn’t a clue what Maglor was talking about, especially as the Valar gave him back the hand that Fingon his careless cousin hacked off. I am seriously thinking of altering Maglor’s memories so that he does not become hurt by all of Manwë’s shit; I will do anything for a quiet life.  
  
  
  
  
How tiresome it all was, and now it has happened again. It is lucky that I adore my husband and find the odd bit of violence, here and there, sexually invigorating. I tootled off to our bedroom, where I knew Maglor would be sulking, and I acted the misunderstood partner, which, in fact, I was. In the end he apologised and we made love. I suspect that it is all a game; Maglor doesn’t take much to persuade into bed after one of these spats and sometimes I think he plans his little outbursts just to get me into the bedroom. It is so like an elf to do that; if he just asked me I would be more than willing but he prefers drama instead, so like a Fëanorian!  
  
  
  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
  
  
  
Now, back to my first time with Círdan. He was incredibly gentle and so I became bored. My cock became soft, and when Círdan snaked his hand underneath me to hold it in his hand and pump up and down, he said that it often happened during the first few times. I was still acting without even realising it. The bearded one was more convinced than ever that I was a virgin, and after he came he continued pumping my cock up and down until I did too. I had to think of Melkor to do so. Ah well, such is life when living a lie.  
  
  
  
  
Afterwards, Círdan held me in his arms and told me that I would soon come to enjoy sex as much as he did. “It is an expression of my affection for you,” he told me.  
  
  
  
  
I gifted Círdan with a genuine smile. I had acted well and was now associating with the upper echelons of power. “Thank you,” I replied demurely.  
  
  
  
  
“Now we must go off to sleep,” Círdan told me and playfully patted my nose with his finger. I so wanted to kill him for that but held myself. I needed the elves to maintain my anonymity. “We both have an early morning ahead of us.” I wondered why he needed to say that. The elves in Balar never got up late. Anor could never surprise that lot in slumber. It seemed a point of honour to get up before she did.  
  
  
  
  
I smiled, because I am an outstanding actor, and snuggled into Círdan’s arms at his bidding. It fascinated me, watching his crusty, warlord face relax into that of a sleeping innocent. I mused that I could have killed him there and then; however, at the back of my mind was always the fear of being caught and the need for invisibility, so that the Valar could not drag me off to Valinor to face trial. I was concerned for a fleeting moment that Círdan had raised my profile by taking me as his lover, but the ring Melkor gave me was my protection; it remained invisible and none were any the wiser.  
  
  
  
  
During the night, I lay wondering how long I would have to maintain the pretence of being Aranel. Even though the elves were my enemy, I felt less inclined to disrupt the life I had in Balar, simply because I knew not what was happening on the mainland. Melkor’s betrayal could be complete and any escape attempt met by the Valar, who must surely be looking for me. Even if I hid in the most secret places under the mountains they would find me. In fact it is recorded in the Elven Chronicles that I did just that. The Chroniclers astound even me with their wholehearted lies. I do not approve at all.  
  
  
 


	7. Discarding Círdan

It is a bit much when one cannot trust a bearded elf. I was Círdan’s lover and every night I let him have my arse, but outside the bedroom I seemingly did not exist.

 

“He never keeps a lover long,” Silinde, the second in command of Círdan’s ships told me as he admired the sword I had just made for him. “He finds some weakness, professes that he feels your plight, and before you know it he is shagging you up the arse. Then he sort of loses interest. I have seen him do it time and time again”

 

“It took him a long time to approach me,” I replied hoping that Silinde would cut his finger as he delicately touched the edge of the blade; this was not because I disliked him but because I like to see elves injure themselves.

 

“Only because he was still enjoying the delights of his previous lover,” Silinde chuckled and held the sword up so that it glinted in the light. I noticed how powerfully muscled his arm was and smirked because mine was more so. “When he sent him off, he could swoop in and take you.”

 

“Where did his lover go?” I asked.

 

“To the mithril mines on the north of the island,” Silinde replied. “Círdan invented a new position for him. He is the director, of the director of the mines. In short, he does nothing.”

 

I would have done the ellyn on the island a massive favour if I had strangled their unfaithful lord when I first felt the urge to do so. It occurred to me that I might be losing my touch. However, Silinde might be jealous and directing our conversation to achieve his own ends.

 

“Were you ever his lover?” I asked.

 

“Absolutely not!” Silinde looked horrified. “He has a beard. It is most unheard of, among those of us who are fastidious that is. Anyway, my husband would be very upset and he is one of the few elves on the island who is bigger than me.” He smiled to let me know he was joking. “He did approach us and ask us for a threesome but we declined gracefully and told him our vows were unbreakable. He apologised and we heard no more of it. If he were beardless we might have considered it. Have you seen how he sometimes has things in it? Like little specks of unidentified matter? I prefer to think it isn’t his food or an infestation of some sort.”

 

I laughed. “Well, you know how we elves are attractive to wildlife.”

 

Silinde roared with laughter. “Seriously, Aranel,” he said afterwards. “Enjoy your fun and then walk away. Leave it as a pleasant memory and you will not be hurt. Lord Círdan cares not if the other is hurt, when everything ends, and he walks away with practised ease.”

 

“Please do not take this the wrong way,” I said to Silinde. “Did Lord Círdan send you to me to talk to me this way? It occurs to me from what you have said, and his declining interest in me, that he might have done so that I would not be surprised when it happened. I apologise if I am out of line here.”

 

“Indeed no!” Silinde looked shocked and I could tell he was telling the truth. “Just ask half the elves on the island how they have been treated. You will join their masses soon enough.”

 

“I apologise,” I told him. “I had to know because I will not be discarded by anyone.”

 

“He will discard you,” Silinde told me. “I have seen it so many times before. Walk away, my friend, and do not let him hurt you. Keep your heart intact.”

 

“I intend to,” I replied and smiled. Silinde chuckled and bear-hugged me before leaving with his new sword attached firmly to his belt. I watched him as he headed for the dock, his loose blond hair swaying as he walked. Twice he stopped other elves and showed them his new sword; he was obviously very pleased with it. I imagined him one day fighting my hordes, his hair bound to a tight braid and his happy, laughing face twisted in anger and rage. I smiled and imagined the look on his face when he saw that his friend was indeed his darkest enemy. It was a happy thought and made me feel much better.

 

~~~*~~~

 

“What?” Círdan roared.

 

“I do not wish to be your lover anymore,” I said to Círdan after he had shagged my arse that night. I started to dress.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked, because he is not very bright. “You sleep with me at night.”

 

“I will be spending my nights alone,” I told him. “As I do my days.”

 

“But...”

 

“No buts,” I replied. “It is about time you got a new lover, isn’t it?”

 

Understanding spread across his face. “I still desire you,” he told me. Only because I am unattainable, I thought. “I cannot spend the days with you as well. I am busy and I have lots of meetings and...”

 

“It would not be seemly to be seen in the company of one who is half-wolf and a blacksmith,” I finished off for him, and managed to look hurt so that he might feel a smidgeon of guilt.

 

“I do not care what you are and I have said so before,” Círdan exploded with rage. “So don’t try that one on me.” He pushed me down on the bed and held his body over mine. I made out to struggle but inside I was smiling. I love the fight, and the fact that Círdan had lost his temper was balm to my senses. “I have never paraded any of my lovers with me during the day,” he said warningly in my ear.

 

“How many have you had?” I managed to sound shocked. Imagine, a moral Sauron, whatever next!

 

“None of your business,” he growled and kissed my captive shoulders.

 

“I had none before you,” I told him. “Shouldn’t I know of your experience in exchange?”

 

“Thousands,” Círdan replied. “Do you want their names as well?”

 

“What about love?” I asked. He still had me in what he thought was an effective hold and was busy licking my ear point.

 

“Love is for weaklings. We cannot afford such emotions in times like these,” Círdan replied. “Now be quiet. I want your arse again. You know that you are going nowhere, so stop playing these silly games.”

 

I stood up. Círdan hung like a surprised monkey on my back with one arm around my neck. “I have my pride,” I told the bearded one. “You will not discard me and break my heart. I will go before I let you do that to me.”

 

“How did you stand up like that?” Círdan asked full of awe and obviously not listening to anything I had said.

 

Because I am Sauron, fool! I thought. “I am amazingly strong,” I told him. “Now unhook yourself.”

 

“I should have known you would fall in love with me,” Círdan mused as he sat on the bed. “Bloody virgins, they always want affection. What is the matter? Are you sulking because I did not give you flowers and profess undying love?”

 

“You know why,” I replied and pulled my shirt over my head.


	8. Erestor's Tale

I thought that becoming Círdan’s lover would elevate me into a position of power. Not overt power, where one visibly rules, but power behind the scenes. I imagined whispering subliminally guiding thoughts into the bearded one’s ear but found out that he listens to no one. He would not even talk about affairs of the realm, not even little one such as how much metal would be needed to equip every elf with a decent sword and dagger. All he wanted was my arse. It is not right that an elf should be so like me, not right at all.

 

 

 

None of that mattered anymore. I walked out of Círdan’s bedroom and out of his life. The back room of the forge had a bed and that is where I slept. There was much to think about. Seizing power was not an option because Melkor had forbade it. It made sense that a low profile would not attract the attention of the Valar, who might still be looking for me; also, being Círdan’s lover had hardly elevated my position because I remained firmly behind the scenes and was treated as a shameful secret and not a lover to be proud of. My thwarted aim had been to find out his plans, ready to take back with me when Melkor returned in glory; whenever that would be. No doubt the ugly, old, weeping tart Nienna knew already. However, I had no such knowledge and I did not even know the full extent of her relationship with Melkor then. I do now, and I am glad they are both living in the Void. How I hate the bitch; she is worse than me.

 

 

 

I considered that I had not jeopardised anything by walking away from Círdan; he had not been willing to share his thoughts and so my attempts at gaining information were fruitless. I decided that I would continue to lay low until I could leave the island. There was nothing to be gained from trying to find out anything from Círdan and I wondered if any of his closest confidantes knew his actual thoughts and intentions. I suspected not as he kept most things close to his chest, including that revolting beard.

 

 

 

Círdan is a strange elf. He lives in a large castle, which the Valar built for him, near the dock in Alqualondë. He has his own shipyard, and likes nothing better than to clamber halfway up a skeleton hull and hammer planks in place. He holds the nails between his teeth as he hammers, and I have often wished that he would swallow one and choke to death. I frequently visualise him turning blue as he tries to cough up the nail, and then lose his hold so that his body plummets to the ground. He is a repulsive elf; he dries his sweaty face with his long beard, while he is hammering nails, and wipes his nose with his finger and cleans it on the mass of hair. I just know that Maglor is going to taunt me, whenever we see Círdan, because I had sex with him; I am too honest for my own good.

 

 

 

Perhaps, instead of writing an episode from my life, I should have written an appealing story instead. I used to tell a great tale to Erestor when he was a baby. It was about two devious, out of control elflings, whose well meaning parents left them in the forest with a very good childminder, who had excellent references, because they could not cope with their bad behaviour anymore. The childminder’s house was made out of gingerbread, which is not the best building material one can construct a house with, but her heart was in the right place and she loved elflings. Anyway, the brats escaped, causing no end of worry to the poor childminder, and made their way back to the parent’s house. Then the elflings constructed the most amazing web of lies to the astonished village elders. They accused their step-nana of being evil and their ada of simple mindedness. It was also alleged by both that the childminder was really a witch who had tried to eat them by stuffing them in an oven; the lack of burns was an obvious flaw in their tale but they were so earnest that they were believed. Dreadful punishments were meted out to the innocent childminder, and the hapless parents, and the evil brats were never found out. As I said to little Erestor, their behaviour was reprehensible, and because he was a tiny little thing, and always believed everything I said, he agreed with me.

 

 

 

“They were bad elflings because they told lies,” Erestor would say to me as he sat on my knee. “Why didn’t the villagers burn them to death?”

 

 

 

I always impressed upon Erestor that he should never forego the opportunity to tell the truth, no matter who it hurt. Unless one tells the truth successfully they will never be believed when they want to pop in the odd outrageous lie of two. “Elves do not believe that elflings are capable of great wickedness,” I would answer and put on a sad face. “But we know better, don’t we my little trainee Dark Lord?”

 

 

 

Erestor would nod happily. “When the cook asked me if I liked her new dress I said that it was horrid,” he told me proudly on one occasion. “I told her that she did not look horrid but her dress did.”

 

 

 

“Well done,” I said to him. “Otherwise she might have resigned and we would have no lunch.”

 

 

 

“I don’t think that elves should wear horrible clothing, Ada. Do you?”

 

 

 

“It is an appalling way to carry on,” I remarked. “One might as well wear nothing at all.”

 

 

 

“I have a great idea,” Erestor beamed. “When we go into town next we should burn down the buildings that have shops selling clothing we do not like.”

 

 

 

“Fantastic,” I said and gave my tiny ion a big hug. “Unfortunately the Valar would not allow it. They would put us both in prison.”

 

 

 

“The Valar spoil everything, don’t they Ada?”

 

 

 

Even at that young age Erestor could tell that the Valar were not the benign influences that they would have liked us to believe they were.

 

 

 

I digress. I slept the night in my forge, and in the morning I set to firing up the furnace and ate a hunk of bread and cheese that was left over from the day before. Afterwards, I went down to the sea and dunked myself to wash off the smell of the bearded one. On the way back, upon passing the well, I saw that the bucket had been wound up to the surface and was full of water so I poured it over my hair and body. I was clean again

 

 

 

Back in the forge, I hammered metal, bare-chested and with only a pair of black leather leggings covering my lower half. I looked damned good and Círdan knew it. I spotted him staring at me from his upper floor window.

 

 

 

“You can look,” I mused. “But you cannot touch.”

 


	9. Cirdan's Beard

 

Círdan ignored me for the next year. He could not get rid of me, as I was easily the best sword maker on the island; even when he ordered his new sword to be made by another blacksmith my clients remained loyal to me. It was clear that Círdan was not happy with his new sword, which is what happens when one commissions the lesser talented. It wasn’t as finely balanced as one that I would have made him, and in the end he put it away and wore the one I had made him several years before. He still ignored me; although, I was always aware of him watching me from his window. I paid him no heed and carried on as before, so that he would know I did not miss him.

 

 

 

“There is a new forge being built in the dock,” Silinde told me. “I have told Lord Círdan that I wish for you to shift there. Your talents should be used for making functional weapons for our warriors, not fancy baubles for our Lord and his courtiers. If you are removed from our Lord’s sight he might pay more heed to the urgency of our situation.”

 

 

 

“You are one of his courtiers, and you have commissioned ceremonial swords off me” I said as I wound a length of wire into a coil.

 

 

 

“That is true,” Silinde said and grinned. “However, I am not blind as to the needs of the warriors. You are the best blade maker in Balar and our warriors will one day lay their lives on the line; therefore, they deserve the best weapons to fight with.”

 

 

 

“I agree,” I told my friend. I could see the implications immediately. It would not surprise me if Círdan forbade the move because then he would not be able to see me as I worked. “I would love to move nearer the dock and enjoy a sea view from the forge. It is of the utmost importance that we all work with the greatest urgency to ensure the victory of the elves.” How I did not laugh as I said it I do not know.

 

 

 

Círdan agreed wholeheartedly that I should move to the dock. I wondered what he was playing at. He still surreptitiously watched me from his window and yet he was agreeing to the move. My mind worked overtime trying to find an answer. Maybe he thought that I should be removed from his sight so that he would not be tempted, or maybe he was planning on another lover from near my forge and did not want to be caught out looking at me. It was well known that in the past year he had enjoyed two lovers and tired of them very quickly. Very soon he would run out of potential lovers because there would be no more ellyn left who had not enjoyed his hairy delights.

 

 

 

While Círdan was dallying with the affections of the two unfortunate elves, I took no lovers. I really would rather remain celibate than let an elf have sex with me, unless it was Maglor, of course. Anyway, this was interpreted by Círdan as me being broken hearted, and he assumed that I regretted breaking up with him. I sighed when Silinde told me.

 

 

 

“You can tell him that he was so awful in bed that I will never have sex again with anyone. I cannot believe he thought I would enjoy all the terrible things he did to me.” I knew Silinde had been sent by him; I could feel it in my bones; besides, he looked extremely uncomfortable as if he were ordered to betray me.

 

 

 

“Really?” Silinde asked, astonished and not denying that he had been sent by Cirdan.

 

 

 

“Yes,” I replied. “I am glad to be away from him. The decision to leave was not a hard one at all.”

 

 

 

“I will let him know,” Silinde said to me. “Know this Aranel; I did not want to be the go-between but...”

 

 

 

“I know,” I smiled and laid my hand on Silinde. “It is all right. I know that Círdan puts everyone in uncomfortable positions.”

 

 

 

Silinde looked grateful; as well he might because I felt like snapping his neck there and then. This was not because of what happened before but because I like killing elves. It would not have had any personal motive behind it except sheer enjoyment.

 

 

 

~~~*~~~

 

 

 

“How dare you,” Círdan thundered, his face as red as the inside of a watermelon, complete with pips. “How dare you make fun of my sexual performance and cause me to be a laughing stock in front of my subjects.”

 

 

 

Círdan had summoned me to his office in his castle. He was so embarrassed by the gossip, no doubt spread by Silinde, that no other was present at the interview. “My Lord; I do not believe I made fun of your performance at all. I merely said that you were so awful in bed that I will never have sex again and that you did terrible things to me.”

 

 

 

“Well that has been added to considerably,” Círdan screeched like a petulant little girl, and he thumped the desk with his white knuckled fist.

 

 

 

“Perhaps you should pay more attention to whom you select to question me,” I said and flicked a small sliver of metal off my sleeve. I mused that Círdan might be in here with bare feet and that the sharp fragment would pierce his skin, eventually working its way up to his heart and piercing it. It was a small musing but I never lost the opportunity to think evil.

 

 

 

“Who, in the Valar’s name, do you think you are talking to?” Círdan thundered. I wondered why he asked and decided to spell it out for him.

 

 

 

“You, of course,” I replied. “There is no one else in here.”

 

 

 

“How dare you!” he raged. I thought his beard would fly off and desert him, he shook so much.

 

 

 

I suddenly became very bored, so I leapt up and grabbed hold of his nasty beard and wrapped it around my hand, paying small heed to the amount of lice and ticks that might be living in it. My hand pulled the beard down to the level of the desk and Círdan’s face went down with it. He was bright red and furious, but so was I.

 

 

 

“Listen to me,” I hissed. “I am not interested in your love life, or who you take to your bed. That part of my life is over, and it should be for you as well. I refuse to take part in your silly games, and you, as Lord of this Island, should not be indulging in them either. I spend my whole day, from dawn until dusk, making weapons so that your warriors will have the best protection they can when they fight against the evil one. That is my focus, not your love life.” In fact I did make exceedingly good weapons for the elves and they literally did have the best protection when going into battle. Some might say that I was setting myself up to fail but I believe in fairness in battle otherwise victory has a hollow ring about it. The elven weapons, made by me, would be excellent, but the ones I would supply my armies with would be more than excellent; they would be blessed by me with enchantments woven around the blades so that they struck true. On impulse I kissed Círdan’s mouth, deep and long and when I felt him relax into the kiss I ended it. “That is what you gave up,” I told him.

 

 

 

I let go of his filthy beard and walked out of the room.

 


	10. Insulting The Lord's Beard

I was arrested for, ‘Insulting the Lord’s beard’. Tsk tsk. What a naughty elf impersonator I was. Languishing in the cell I wondered if I really cared and quickly reached the decision that ordinarily I would not be concerned one jot about being incarcerated especially by a bunch of weedy elves, who couldn’t hold me unless I wanted them to anyway. However, my situation meant that I was now at risk of attracting the attention of the Valar. I did not know if Círdan had a means of communication with them or even if threats to the realm were reported. It seemed laughable, but an insult to Círdan’s beard is a heinous crime, apparently, and makes one an enemy of the elven peoples. If they were not so serious, it would have been a bloody good laugh. I knew that Melkor would laugh uproariously when we met again and I told him about it.

 

It occurred to me that I would have to beg Círdan’s forgiveness, or do something to appease the situation, as I could not afford the Valar to come for me. I could not take the risk. To change into a bat and fly off would be an effective means of escape, but my disappearance would be of note and the Valar are not as stupid as they appear; they would know immediately that something suspicious was going on.

 

Eventually, I was taken in front of a panel of high born elves who asked me if I had insulted their Lord’s beard. I replied that I had pulled it, taking no care of the insects that might bite my hand, and told their Lord how hurt I was at his unending cruelty and taunting of me.

 

“I was a virgin, and Lord Círdan told me that he loved me. In fact he said he would cherish me always and we would forever wake up and meet the dawn in each other’s arms,” I said, and it was very nearly the truth. Círdan might not have used the words, ‘forever’ and, ‘always’ but otherwise it was spot on. “I do not think I could ever allow my heart to be so abused again.”

 

There was much underlying sympathy from the panel; no doubt Círdan had said the same to them or elves they knew.

 

“I did not,” Círdan exploded. “He is a filthy liar. I order you to find him guilty.”

 

I looked at the panel of judges with sad eyes and gave them a speech that would go straight to their hearts. “I care not what you do to me. My heart is disillusioned; nothing matters now, not even my life. My days are spent making the very best weapons I can, from dawn until Anor dips below the horizon. The threat can come at any time, therefore; I make weapons with the utmost urgency, so that we are prepared. If I die tomorrow I know that I would have done my very best to ensure the survival of all on this island.” I looked at their faces, they all wore my swords and they knew the quality of them.

 

I continued. “It would have been so easy to fade after the callous shattering of my heart, but the elven cause must come first. For my part, I will not let the nameless ones take our liberty and threaten our very existence. We are already a decimated number; if we do not stand together and push aside petty squabbles, we cannot win. If that is of no importance to you, then so be it. However, I like to think that we attach a greater importance to the larger picture and the need for urgency, than indulging one who is offended because of an apparent insult to his facial hair. I put it to all of you here that this is a mere disagreement, forced by extreme provocation; far more stands to be lost than to be gained from any punitive measures. I accept that there will be some sort of penalty, but if I am to be imprisoned I ask one favour, that my forge be brought here so I am not delayed in equipping all the warriors on this island. At least let my imprisonment be one of productive enterprise in the fight against evil. My Lords, the fate of my fëa rests in your hands.” I looked down, my eyes dipping demurely.

 

“Take the prisoner back to his cell,” The head judge ordered.

 

I left the room, offering no resistance. When I was safely locked up, I looked out of the barred window that faced the dock and grinned. Even if they did imprison me they would accept the request of allowing me to work in my forge; their weapon supply depended on it. Also I was safeguarding myself against the interest of the Valar; they would never believe that I could be so altruistic. They would think of me as a particularly noble minded elf. The warriors were certainly impressed with me and I heard much muttering that it was only right they should get the same quality weapons as their rulers. Silinde’s husband had been one of the judges and I knew that he disapproved of the way Círdan treated his lovers.

 

My cell door slammed open as Círdan stormed into the room. He slammed it behind him. “You bastard,” he screamed at me. “How dare you come out with all that shit.” He really was quite angry. Oh dear, no self control at all.

 

“It is all true,” I said calmly and shivered as if I were upset.

 

“You pulled my beard,” Círdan screeched, his face bright red and warming the room nicely. “I will never forgive you for that.”

 

Many thoughts were racing through my head. I could work the forge with Círdan laughing at me, and possibly telling the Valar all about me, or I could ensure his loyalty and his protection. I knew that he still desired me and that his judges had probably been very derisive of the way he had treated me, otherwise he would not be losing his temper. Another consideration was that he was more akin to a man than an elf when considering his treatment of his lovers, and he was also very limited in his choice of fresh elves to sleep with. Therefore, he would have to consider taking old lovers again, and those who would want to return to the dubious delights of his bed would be sparse indeed.

 

I walked across the room and put my arms around him. “I seek your forgiveness, My Lord,” I said without meaning any of it. My hand reached behind his neck and I pulled him closer. Our lips barely brushed and I could feel his hardness against my softness. “I have missed you so very much.”

 

Círdan’s hand reached around the back of my head as he pulled me in closer; the other arm clapped around my back. “No words,” he said and pulled me in for a big hairy kiss.


	11. Maglor's Ire

The capricious Círdan stood in front of the judges and told them that he and I had reached an understanding; he accepted that I had reacted during a period of extreme emotional turmoil and was not fully responsible for my actions. He also asked for it to be recorded that he was partly to blame for my conduct, and wanted to drop the allegations, because in the long run it was beneficial to the elven cause that I be freed. The judges were not entirely convinced that Círdan was being sincere; however, they agreed to set me free when he told them that we had put our differences behind us and were both willing to pursue the course of our love again. I had to lie with a straight face when they asked me if this was my wish also.

 

“After all,” Círdan told them. “I know Aranel loves me; he would not have acted with such desperate abandon otherwise.” It was so easy and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at him.

 

That night I slept in Círdan’s arms after he had shagged my arse a couple of times. Every time I moved he asked if I was all right; it was most irritating. I felt like screaming at him to shut the fuck up, but I held my tongue and acted the humble lover. “I am in your arms, My Lord. How could I not be all right,” I murmured every time he asked which seemed to please the idiot.

 

Maglor has taunted me several times that I had sex with Círdan and he has just done it again. I will be back to write more after I have dealt with this irritating matter. I know just what to do.

 

I really shouldn’t laugh. Maglor is hopping mad and threatening to chop my balls off if I do not reverse the enchantment I laid upon his face. I have given him a full black and white streaked beard, complete with ringlets and bows, down to his knees.

 

“I still love you, even though you are a freak,” I told him and then departed our bedroom.

 

I will not describe the invective he subjected me to; mainly because I would be repeating myself for about three pages. In about half an hour I will change him back to a smooth faced elf again on condition that he stops taunting me about having had sex with Círdan. It will be good to hear my wilful husband pleading with me, something he has never done, not even when he was my prisoner in Barad-hûr.

 

After half an hour, I removed the beard from Maglor’s face. He did not plead; he physically attacked me and is so angry that I have been ordered to sleep in Erestor’s old bedroom tonight. I merely smirked and told him that I would be sleeping with him whether he liked it or not. My only one is now throwing axes suspiciously near to the house; an exercise he indulges in whenever he is stressed or bored. What a poor shot Maglor is today; an axe has just landed in the room, from outside. It could have hit my foot. It is time to stop this, I think.

 

In his temper, Maglor threw an axe at me as I went outside the house to calm him down. It bloody hurt! The blade hit me full force, chopping my sternum in half. The shock of pain was so sudden that I fell to the ground. I could hardly breath, the pain was so intense.

 

“I am sorry,” Maglor said, looking worried. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

 

“Pull it out,” I squeaked.

 

“Perhaps I should get Elrond; he will know what to do,” Maglor said hurriedly, looking wildly around in his panic, as if he expected Elrond to suddenly appear from behind a rock or walk out of the sea.

 

“Pull it out so I can heal myself,” I said and tried ineffectually to tug at the head of the axe myself.

 

“Brace yourself,” Maglor said and pulled the axe out with an expert tug of his arm causing me to yell my pain to the skies. Black spots appeared in front of my eyes and dizziness overcame me.

 

“Pull yourself together,” I told my mind. “You have been through much worse than this.” My vision cleared and I clamped my hand over the wound, willing it to heal. It is most strange but I am unable to heal Valar inflicted injuries; however, I can always heal myself when they come from some other source. The elven chronicles recorded that I was recognisable by the loss of my ring finger after Isildur had chopped it off. How would they know? The truth is they did not; they made it up. My finger grew back almost immediately, within half an hour, but I did lose a significant amount of my power; however, it was nothing a few hundred years of sleep would not put right.

 

“I am so sorry,” Maglor kept saying over and over again as he cradled my head. My hand covered the wound and blood seeped between my fingers. Mmm blood. Yummy!

 

“Give me some space and let me concentrate,” I said. “Let go of my head.”

 

The wound eventually closed up after about a minute of extreme concentration and I licked the blood off my fingers. Maglor looked horrified. “How can you do that?” he asked.

 

“Tastes good,” I replied happily. Then I let my face darken. “You tried to kill me.”

 

“It was an accident,” Maglor replied looking extremely worried, as well he might. He stood up and so did I.

 

Then he ran.


	12. An Impending Visit

Maglor ran speedily across the beach toward the far end of the bay. Needing to go swift, because he already had a head start on me, I changed myself into a wolf and ran after him. Just as he was about to run into the sea, I leapt up and slammed by furry body against his back. He went down like a tree standing alone in a hurricane. The weather was changing, with huge black clouds rolling over from the sea and a fine mist of rain falling softly upon us. The wind was picking up, and I did not want to stay outside when I could be in the house with the french doors open, listening to the thunder and lightning that would inevitably come.

 

“Don’t hurt me,” Maglor said. “It was an accident.” At long last he was pleading with me, something he had never done before. A large wave, carried by the increasing wind, washed over us.

 

My massive paws held Maglor’s arms down and, for fun, I licked the side of his face and his neck. Every time he tried to say something I growled at him. In the end, he lay on the wet sand and let me lick him without comment. When Maglor’s face was thoroughly wolf tongue cleaned I changed back, my body still on top of his.

 

“See how one’s jealousy can hurt others?” I asked as I flipped him over and brushed away the sand stuck to his wet face.

 

“I didn’t think I had thrown the axe that hard,” Maglor replied. “It was meant to fall just before you. I am sorry it hit you.”

 

“What? The most accurate axe thrower in Valinor misjudged a throw?” I taunted as I ground my arousal against his groin. I could not feel any reciprocating hardness so I assumed that he was too terrified.

 

“I was angry with you,” he said by way of an excuse. Another wave washed over us.

 

“Doesn’t anger mean that you intend to hit your target, so you do?” I asked pleasantly.

 

“You gave me a beard,” he said in the most miserable tone. “I know I taunted you but I did not deserve such harsh treatment. How could you have done that to me?”

 

“Simply because when I asked you to stop taunting you did it all the more,” I replied.

 

“I do not like that you had sex with Círdan,” Maglor said.

 

“Neither does he,” I replied quickly.

 

“How many other elves have you had sex with?” Maglor asked because he felt a little braver and wanted to justify his actions by showing how hurt he was. The sea was approaching ever nearer and we were both soaking wet.

 

“I tried to avoid having sex with elves because the very idea repulses me. You are the only elf I would freely share my body with and I do it gladly because I love you. If I had sex with any other elf it would be under duress and because the Valar made me. Before you accuse me of being, ‘elfist’, I can tell you now that I would not willingly have sex with any Maia, or Valar, as they also repulse me. In fact, every being alive does that to me. The only one I can bear to touch me is you.” I gave him a sanctimonious look and stood up. “I cannot change my past, and you should not be jealous about it either.”

 

We walked back to the house together and I told Maglor to run us both a bath. It is filling now and I am writing some more while it does. I intend talking to Maglor about what happened while we soak. My clothing is wet with sea water and he is also drenched. The weather is unsettled outside, so throwing axes was not a good idea anyway. The french doors are still open, as I love to listen to the thunder, but there is also a roaring fire keeping the room warm. The wind is picking up and soon we will have to close and fasten every door and window. It will be a cosy night tonight as we lay in our warm bed, huddled together, listening to the storm. I have forgiven Maglor already as I can never stay angry with him for long; however, I have not told him yet; it will not hurt for him to be wary for a couple more hours.

 

Anyway, back to the story. Círdan and I started as we meant to go on. I still worked in the forge, because making weapons was of the utmost importance in our fight against me and Melkor. Círdan, for his part, acknowledged me during the day and we often lunched together. Whenever there was an official ceremony I sat with Círdan, and I was viewed by the elves as his consort even though we had not married. It was in the elves interest that Círdan and I stay together. It meant that every elf just past his fiftieth begetting day was safe from his roving eye and his former lovers need not endure his hairy delights ever again.

 

All proceeded smoothly for several years. One day, Círdan announced to me that we would be receiving a visit to the island.

 

“Three Maiar from Aman are coming in two months time to collect evidence against the nameless one. The Valar are putting him on trial and need witness statements off all of us. You can tell them of how Lord Sauron raped your nana, while in wolf form, as I believe they are collecting evidence against him too, for when they catch him.

 

“What an honour the Valar give us by allowing Maiar to visit us,” I replied and tried to look excited. “Perhaps they can tell us what it is like there.”

 

“I should imagine they would answer all your questions,” Círdan said and smiled as he took my hand. “I feel they will find Sauron shortly and then we can go back over the sea to our rightful home and live there once again.”

 

“Oh, I hope so,” I said longingly and not meaning a word of it.

 

I carried myself for the rest of the day joining in the happiness of the others while wondering what I should do. I had hidden for many years in plain sight, the ring keeping my identity secret; however, I wondered if it could deceive Maia, I suspected not.

 

“What are you thinking?” Círdan asked softly as we lay in bed that night.

 

On the spur of the moment I told him what he wanted to hear. “When all is over, and we are safe and back in Middle-earth, will we still be together?” Círdan hesitated. “I see,” I said to him.

 

“No one can tell what will happen,” Círdan told me, trying to justify not answering me straightaway. “Who knows whether we shall live during the times ahead? I would like to think we would be together.”

 

I did not care. His hesitation allowed me a way off the island, so that I could leave without him thinking that I was doing it for any other reason than fearing his future infidelity. Part of me was insulted as I was easily the most attractive being on the island; however, I thought to myself, ‘It’s only Círdan, and he wears a filthy beard with things living in it, so why should I care?’

 

I lay awake during the night planning my escape.


	13. The Storm

My escape was much simpler than I anticipated and presented through opportunity rather than any meticulous planning, which was extremely fortunate because I could not think of a way of leaving the island without intense suspicion falling on my apparently sudden disappearance.

 

The ship the Maiar were travelling on had suffered some damage in a storm at sea and was drifting without anchor, the holding chain snapped in half probably because the makers had used inferior grade iron that could not withstand the rigours of wave motion nor the corrosive nature of salty water. In Aman, the boat makers were used to creating short range pleasure boats and nothing else. They did not take the selection of suitable materials as a priority, paying more attention to appearances and what colours to paint the hold. I can say one thing for Círdan, he has introduced a better and more thorough system of ship building here in Valinor; now they can call themselves shipwrights and not just builders of crappy little boats.

 

A link had cracked, and then split apart, after the anchor was lowered out at sea while waiting to come into dock. The night saw the ship floating with itinerant progress further from Balar, until one of the crew discovered that the anchor was not holding them anymore; had the crew been experienced they would have felt the drift underneath them. Their lack of ability was a most useful addition to my knowledge and made my plan of escape more feasible. With sails unfurled and billowing in the storm laden sea wind, the ship made straight for the dock. Unless they judged it right, the whole dock would suffer damage and the ship would be decimated. I was so looking forward to watching it happen and was quite excited at the prospect.

 

The alarm sounded in the dark early hours of the morning. The ever-reliable Silinde had lit the warning beacons and sounded the disaster horns. Every one of us had to go to the dock and help. Many would be needed to attach chains to the ship to pull it in after the ships sails had been furled. I was momentarily disappointed that the ship was not going to crash into the dock and said to Círdan, “I am so glad that they are not making the speed they were before as I fear it would have resulted in much loss of life.”

 

“It could still crash into the dock,” Círdan told me, his face grim and his beard slung over one shoulder as if he were readying for action. “They furled the sails too late.” I watched the approaching ship and smiled, my little black heart skipping with joy. The rain beat down from the dark sky. Rips of lightning and crashing roars of thunder beleaguered the stricken ship, as a jagged fork of pure white light hit the main mast, splintering it into a million fiery shards. The terrified shouts and screams were music to my ears, and inside I was wetting myself with laughter as the elves prayed to the Valar to deliver their kin from harm.

 

~~~*~~~

 

My favourite place to eat in Alqualondë is a small quayside restaurant, where one has an uninterrupted view of the dock. Sometimes ships get into difficulties and one can literally feel the panic and terror of the elves caught aboard. It is well known that elves hate sea water because of the monsters that live in it. They fear being eaten because they believe all the tales they were told as elflings. However, I am glad they do as it affords much amusement for me when there is a ship sinking. Of course, there is always the down side of being me whilst watching. I am expected to help out and save the hapless buggers. With a wave of the hand I can transport the elves to the dockside, but I do so reluctantly. How can they learn from their stupidity if I keep saving them? If I let them suffer the fate they deserved, and Manwë found out, then it would be tentacle rape time and I endured enough of that during the sixteen thousand years of my imprisonment in the void.

 

Maglor finds it extremely embarrassing being with me on the rare occasion there is a ship sinking. “Stop laughing,” he hisses at me. “Everyone’s looking at you.” My laughter increases more when Maglor says that. I have been known to have tears streaming down my cheeks because the screams and pleas for help have made me laugh so much. I try not to do that in public though because the self-righteous nagging is never ending from Maglor if I do.

 

One day we took little Erestor to buy a set of baby throwing axes and the ever popular, ‘Murder in the Dark game for six players or one psychopath’, and we lunched at the quayside. A small boat passed by, so I surreptitiously waved my hand under the table and amazingly the boat just fell apart in the water. How Erestor and I laughed. My little trainee Dark Lord made me so proud when he pointed and said that he hoped they would drown.

 

“Stop leading our ion astray,” Maglor barked.

 

“Ada,” little Erestor piped up. “When elves die they go to Námo’s house. They stay there for a bit and then they are reborn. So why is it so bad to be drowned?”

 

“Yes, good point,” I said and smiled at my small ion before looking at my husband. “Perhaps, my only one, you could tell us?”

 

“Because when an elf dies he leaves others behind who loved him and they get very upset,” Maglor replied to Erestor, totally ignoring me.

 

“Can’t see the point myself,” Erestor said and grinned. “They are going to see them again anyway, aren’t they?”

 

“Yes, but...” Maglor tried to explain.

 

“I am bored now. Don’t want to hear it,” Erestor said loudly and grinned at me.

 

I knew better than to encourage my small ion; marriage is about give and take, after all. “Do not be rude to your ada,” I said. “He is trying to tell you about the elven perspective. You are being very naughty.”

 

“Don’t care,” Erestor said. “Can we go home and kill some fish for tea now, with my baby axes?”

 

Maglor looked at me, eyes narrowed, as if he was more or less sure that he should be very angry with me but had realised he did not really have a leg to stand on. To reinforce it, I told Erestor that we could indeed go home but I was not going to allow him to kill any fish until the next day. “You will just have to watch Ada Maglor do it,” I told him. “That will show you that being rude to your ada is not an option.”

 

“I will throw my new axes at you,” Erestor threatened, his big baby eyes glaring at me. I was so proud of my small ion; he showed every indication that he would become as bad as myself; the fact that he did not still perplexes me. Oh well, one cannot have everything and I know that Maglor is very pleased with how Erestor is now. Maglor’s happiness is what counts; it leads to a happier life for me and I am all for that.

 

~~~*~~~

 

At the dockside the elves had hastily prepared a ship rescue plan. It involved a series of chains being carried out to the ship that was still drifting towards the dock. The chains would be fixed onto the ship and we would pull them from our end.

 

“There is no bloody need for that,” Círdan fumed at Silinde’s husband. “It is going to hit the dock anyway in this storm.” He had to shout as the rain and wind were deafening.

 

I waved my hand, the smallest wave that I could get away with disguised as flicking my hair away from my face. The ship stopped dead. Cirdan remarked that it was most odd and Silinde’s husband smirked at my hairy lover. “I will help with the chains,” I volunteered looking every bit the hero as the rain beat down upon my beautiful face.


	14. Escape!

Círdan sighed, and walked alongside me as we went to the nearest pile of coiled chains. “Don’t get hurt,” he said to me as if a little irritated. I noticed that he did not offer to embrace me and say any words of winsome regret and sentimental ardour. I did not even get an admiring glance from the bearded twat. It mattered not; there were plenty who thought that I was the hero of the moment, and in all the running around and panic they were quite right.

 

“I won’t,” I lied and gave a cheery grin. As I picked up a heavy chain, and carelessly slung it over my bare, sun-bronzed shoulder, I waved like the departing hero who is not long for this world and knows they will look damnably handsome in the minds of those who remember them. Círdan stood staring at me, shaking his head in resigned disapproval and looking at me as though I was the island idiot. “Think not of what you can gain from your life, but what you can give to those who are in it,” I called to him, after noticing that the court recorder was standing nearby. The elf was hastily scribbling my words onto a scroll, which he kept dry by sheltering with it under a large circle of oiled material mounted on curved posts that met on a central pole which he carried with him. I knew that after many embellishments, none of which would really be needed, that I would be recorded in the chronicles as a hero of the elven race. The irony of the moment is still one that I fondly recall.

 

~~~*~~~

 

I once told my little trainee Dark Lord, Erestor, about how Círdan had horrible, nasty things scurrying about in his beard that would bite his hand off if he touched it. That was all I said. Maglor came home terribly embarrassed after taking Erestor to buy a real working toy canon and put him straight to bed.

 

“Do you know what Erestor said to Círdan?" Maglor said in a most accusatory tone.

 

“I wasn’t present when you and Erestor went to the baby weapons store, so no, I would not,” I raised my left eyebrow in a superior way and smirked, making a mental note not to hold the facial gesture too long because I wanted sex that night.

 

“Erestor told Círdan that he was a filthy toe-rag who needed to dip his beard in boiling hot water to kill the bugs in it, and then when Círdan opened his mouth to reply our little ion told him that his breath was honking and he had things crawling between his teeth.” Maglor was very annoyed.

 

“How did you both get to meet Círdan?” I asked. “He never goes anywhere near the baby weapons store, not since they used his beard for target practice.”

 

“We went to see Fëanor, and Círdan was in his shop ordering a ship’s bell from him.” Maglor sat in the chair. “I was so embarrassed. Legolas was in there and howled with laughter; he said that Círdan was a stinky bastard who needed a good wash. Círdan drew his sword and Legolas threatened to kill him.”

 

“Legolas threatens to kill everybody he meets,” I said as if mystified. It was well known that Legolas was quite mad after taking part in the Ring Quest. He had killed several elves for being weak and not standing up to him. However, he is beloved of the Valar and literally does get away with murder. Honestly, he is as bad as me; except I am not allowed to kill any elves and I don’t get poked up the arse by an ageing dwarf, which I am rather glad about actually. It matters not; there are worse things than being killed, and even killing loses its appeal after the first few thousand or so.

 

“Fëanor jumped over the counter and there was a huge sword fight in which our ion could have been seriously hurt.” Maglor glared at me as if it was my fault.

 

“Yes, but he is not hurt, is he?”

 

“It is hardly the point,” Maglor said angrily. “Erestor fired his baby canon and it hit Legolas up the bum. He lost his temper, which is not at all hard for him to do, and he chopped Círdan’s beard off. We came home shortly after, but I believe that Círdan and Legolas are still trying to kill one another.”

 

I shrugged. “I do not care. Neither of them are very nice elves, unlike you my only one; you are worth all the jewels and mithril in Aman. You are worth more than anyone.” I know how to thwart a potential argument in its tracks. I kissed Maglor lightly on the lips. “Meleth, do not discourage Erestor from telling others the truth; he will learn tact in time.” I kissed Maglor again and pulled him closer. “You are so beautiful. Your beauty never fails to astonish me.”

 

Like every elf who has ever lived, Maglor is incredibly susceptible to flattery. He smiled and kissed my lips. “I was embarrassed,” he said softly while giving me a come hither look.

 

“It was only Círdan and Legolas, one more elf laughing at them will not make a noticeable difference,” I said and stroked my only one’s cheek.

 

“You are right. He does have crawly things living in his beard,” Maglor agreed, helpless and under the spell of Sauron, lover extraordinaire.

 

“I am always right,” I said softly and kissed my only one on the mouth.

 

~~~*~~~

 

Back to the dockside.

 

Several of us walked the line of chain to the edge of the dock where it was attached to a strong rope made from hithlain. Several other chains were laid alongside and fastened to ropes. Now we needed to get them out to the ship. The elves on the ship could pull the ropes up and heave the chain onto the deck, to fasten anywhere they cared to, so we could pull it in. It was time for me to escape.

 

I volunteered to take the all ropes to the ship. The wind was picking up and we had very little time. Coils of rope were loaded into the rowing boat. Silinde wanted to accompany me and I shouted that it was too dangerous; I would take the risk alone. Casting off in the rough sea, with the wind howling and the thunder roaring, I made my way across to the ship. The wind picked up incredible speed, because I am very talented at controlling forces of nature, and my little boat was buffeted in the waves causing me to cry out for them to pull me back to the dock. The ropes of hithlain uncoiled and fell into the waves that tossed my boat about as if it were a small toy. Inevitably, my boat capsized as I meant it to. A shoal of large white sharks swam swiftly towards me, deterring any thoughts of rescue from the cowardly elves on either the dock or the ship. By the time the Maiar present on the ship were able to stop the attack, by waving their hands I presume, it was all over. The last the elves saw of me was my arm as it poked through the water, holding my sword aloft ready to do battle with the sharks. It was a sentimental and rather clichéd gesture, just the sort of action the elven chroniclers adore, which is precisely why I did it.

 

It was easy for me to change into a shark when underwater. It also meant that they would not consider me food, not that they would have much success in that department. How exhilarating it was to take the risk of pretending I could be eaten, if only for a few seconds. Luckily, sharks always circle their prey; it gave me the extra time I needed; they might not be able to eat me but they would certainly try an attack.

 

As soon as the Maiar on the ship stopped the attack, the huge mammalian beasts swam aimlessly and all interest in killing stopped for them. I swam aimlessly too, and as the circling widened it was easy to break away and swim further afield. I was on my own and needed to get out of the sea fast. Ulmo’s attention would be on the ship caught in the storm and I doubted that he would heed the sharks if they acted true to form and only stopped when the Maiar made it so. Any evil, he sensed, would put down to the shark attack and my chances of escape would be maximised, especially as I still possessed the ring and did not lose it as I thought I would have done. However, I did not entirely trust the ring to keep me hidden from my peers so I swam as fast as I could to a cluster of rocks and shot out of the sea, into the air, and became a bat.

 

I like being a bat. My ring of deception was held firmly on my leg and I flew for miles across the bay, and the separating strip of sea, to the mainland. For a while I lived in the attic of the newly built basilica in Sirion, which was dedicated to Ulmo. I appreciated the irony; I doubt he would have done but as he was never there it hardly mattered. After a while, the elves began to question why some of them had bite marks on their toes. I knew why. It was because I would fly in through an open window and drink their blood. Elves sleeping with their feet poking out from under the blankets deserve all they get. Windows were shut at night and my food supply dried up. My life stopped being fun and became quite boring. It was time to leave, so I became a werewolf and made my marathon run, for which I would be famous if the elven chronicles had ever recorded it, to Angband.

 

I could not believe the state of the fortress. It was a pile of ruins. The Valar were nothing better than a bunch of vandals; they had decimated the place and it would take many years to rebuild it. So that is what I did. The Elven Chronicles record that I lurked in the underground system, beneath Angband, with Balrogs for company, skulking in the hidden depths underground, too frightened to surface in case the Valar caught me. I never attempted to hide at all and soon there was a massive building works program underway. I created orcs, to do the heavy work, and the balrogs proved surprisingly talented at fancy brickwork. I was so happy for the balrogs; they were a much maligned group of beings with no one considering just how sensitive and artistic they could be. Still, it is typical of an elf to fear that which is ugly. The fortress was rebuilt and I lived there, ruling the land around with an iron hand. I was in my element again and all was right in my world.

 

As for Círdan; who gives a toss about him? I know I don’t!


End file.
